small prayer: 8/15

let it always be the image of
one hundred cattle on
rolling hills;

let me talk about marriage
either to you
or to soil
or to humanity,
but let it be sincere.

quickie

i suppose life isn't defined
by my lines
and carbon curves.

what's next?

4/4*

part one:
i do things i hate.
like, apologize profusely.
a stream of self-hating vomit
continuously getting caught between my teeth
and sticking in my throat.
how pathetic, you know?
day dream about New Mexico -
thinking about the sand and
the mighty saguaro,
(jesus christ! it's pronounced
suh-wah-roe)
and the sky that just might make me forget.
i remember your goddamned face
and
i'm sorry,
it makes me empty.
my terracotta skin breaks apart
and i decompose
in this life i've created in your absence.
nothing fills me up
except the occasional too-much-whiskey
and that just makes me thirst for your
hands.

part two:
the summer eats up my soul like a peach -
as i drip down her arm and from her mouth,
my nectar leaves a reminder;
it used to be simple.

part three:
we forget.
and yes, i use "we".

from June 22

i have a restless heart right now.
i have a healing tattoo right now.
i have voids in my life and lots of dirty clothes.
i occasionally have serious chest pains,
i have unfathomable doubts about myself and really bad skin.
i have two cats, one who loves me like i'm the only human on earth.
that's a nice thing to have.
i have feet that are spreading with age,
i have tits that aren't.
i have a sky,
and some ground
and some blood.
i have friends who are moving on,
i have some friends who aren't.

i know i'm not.